


Extension

by smilebackwards



Series: Surveillance [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), M/M, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 10:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21456370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilebackwards/pseuds/smilebackwards
Summary: Tim’s going to need to learn to be less conspicuous about this hopeless crush he’s developed; he lives with an entire family of detectives.Or: Tim has a crush on Conner and everyone has something to say about it.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: Surveillance [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1507427
Comments: 138
Kudos: 2385





	Extension

“Conner’s been asking about you,” Dick says.

Tim looks at him dubiously. “Why are you saying it like that?”

“Like what?” Dick asks, beaming innocence.

_Like sing-song kissy face,_ Tim wants to say but that’s inarticulate and juvenile. He can feel his face heating with embarrassment. Tim’s going to need to learn to be less conspicuous about this hopeless crush he’s developed; he lives with an entire family of detectives.

“Like you are a five year old with romantic delusions, Grayson,” Damian says acidly from where he’s settled on the couch.

A little more harsh than Tim might have preferred but, “Yes, thank you, Damian,” he says. Damian has been strangely accommodating of Tim lately. Tim’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I’m just saying,” Dick says, nudging Tim in his newly healed ribs, “that he’s been asking.”

“Asking what?” Tim capitulates. Sometimes giving up is the only way out in this family. Also, he might want to know.

Dick pounces. “When he can see you again.”

It’s vastly more likely that Conner made a casual, offhand remark wondering when Tim might join the other young superheroes on the Young Justice team. Roy’s been asking too, and all that means is he wants a new friend. A new friend who will add a laser array to his robotic arm. 

“Bruce hasn’t decided if I’m cleared for Young Justice yet.” Tim was only cleared for Gotham last week after his broken ribs finally knit themselves back together. He’d finished out his 500 consecutive hits on the grapple target in the meantime, to make Bruce feel better.

Dick waves the protest away. “Bruce will clear you. And you don’t need to wait for that to see Conner again anyways. You could go for pizza or something.”

Tim doesn’t say anything. He and Conner had one positive interaction. Six weeks ago. Dick has a vivid imagination. It’s not like Conner has called Tim. He’s not about to get his hopes up.

“Baby bird, give me something here,” Dick groans. “What do you think of him?”

“He’s nice,” Tim says. Faint praise for someone who literally swooped down from the sky to save Tim from falling to his death. Who sat by his bedside after Tim was injured. And has a nice smile. And biceps. Fuck. Tim is fucked.

Dick gives an encouraging nod.

Tim glances over at Damian but no more help appears forthcoming from that corner. Where is Bruce when Tim needs him. Bruce would shut this conversation down so fast. The last time Dick mentioned Conner and alluded less than subtly to his potential interest in Tim, Bruce had taken a moment to remind all of Tim’s siblings that Drake Industries wasn’t the only one in possession of kryptonite and a shard was available in the Team Safety lockbox beside the fear toxin antidote if anyone ever needed it. 

Alfred appears in the doorway. “Dinner is served, young masters.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Tim says. Alfred, at least, can always be counted on for a rescue.

-

“Conner will be leading Gamma squad,” Dick says.

It’s sometimes unclear to Tim whether Dick is his favorite or least favorite brother.

No one else seems to find the assignment odd, despite the fact that Conner hasn’t been on Gamma squad in years. Gamma is the freshman team for the green newbies like Tim and the new speedster kid who is apparently a time traveller. The look he’d given Tim upon their introduction is going to haunt Tim’s dreams. 

Conner belongs on the varsity Alpha squad with Dick and Barbara. He does not belong five feet away from Tim on Gamma, making Tim’s palms sweat through his Kevlar gloves. Tim can feel himself vibrating with nerves. He can’t imagine how obvious it is to a bunch of super-powered people. He needs to calm down. Breathe.

Jason pulls Tim aside and anchors his hands on Tim’s shoulders. “Are you really not okay with this?” Jason asks. “I can lead Gamma squad. Or we can put you on Beta. Roy and I would look after you.”

“No,” Tim says. “It’s okay.” He can barely tell the difference between his new mission anxiety and his hot teammate anxiety. Bruce has downloaded dozens of scholarly journal articles on anxiety therapies on the Batcomputer in a subfolder he doesn’t think Tim knows about and Tim’s sure that’s for him. The anger management articles are probably for Damian.

“Dick means well, but if you need me to knock some sense into him, I will.”

“I’m fine. Thanks, Jason,” Tim says. He can do this. Nothing’s even really changed. Tim managed to be perfectly professional working with Conner on the last mission.

“All right,” Jason says, not sounding entirely convinced. “Be safe.” He looks Tim over—checking the grapple guns strapped to each hip, the bo staff collapsed at the small of his back, the utility belt stocked with everything from smoke grenades to granola bars—and nods approvingly.

Tim chose a uniform in black, red, and gold. Family colors. The Kevlar is a new double-thick prototype that will probably be phased into everyone’s uniforms. It turns away knives like they’re made of rubber. Damian had hesitated before he stabbed Tim in the side to test it and Tim had never felt so loved.

Everyone assigned to Gamma has gathered together and Dick claps his hands to regain everyone’s attention. Tim slips back over to the group. 

“Gamma, you’ll be investigating the power surge at the Hanford lab,” Dick says. “It happened a few hours before the damage reports near Metropolis and Batman thinks there might be a link.”

A softball assignment, but investigation has always been Tim’s strength. Tim checks the camera Bruce had built into his left gauntlet since Tim can’t lug around his Nikon during missions. The camera’s memory is connected directly to the Batcomputer, all Tim’s photos immediately uploaded. Tim had almost cried when Bruce gifted it to him.

Conner nods. “We’ve got it, Nightwing.” He whistles and the Super-Cycle zooms over, leaving treadmarks in the dirt as it skids to a halt.

“Very nice,” Blue Beetle praises, running a hand over the sleek exoskeleton. 

Tim and Impulse climb into the passenger pod at the back as Conner gives the cycle the coordinates. “This is so crash,” Impulse says, zipping around the pod and poking at the monitors and cup holders and generally anything not nailed down. “I can’t believe I get to go on a mission with you and Superboy. You’re like—,” he drops off, attention arrested by the HUD.

“Like what?” Tim asks. 

“Hmm?” Impulse hums, like he’s completely forgotten the conversation.

Tim sighs and straps himself in. Maybe it’s better that he doesn’t know.

“Everyone ready?” Conner asks. He glances at Tim and for a second Tim thinks he’s going to tug Tim’s seatbelt the way Bruce would, to double-check that it’s sturdily locked, but then Conner’s eyes shift away out the viewscreen and the scenery is flashing by, mile after mile.

-

The Hanford Technologies lab is dark, all it’s usual bright lights and whirring machines offline. Tim puts his lockpicking skills to use and presses his hand over the DO NOT ENTER sign to push the door open. 

There’s glass on the floor. Conner looks down as it crunches beneath his shoes. Beside them is an industrial spectrometer similar to one Tim’s used occasionally in the Drake Industries R&D lab. All its glass parts have broken outward, its gauge stopped as high as it can read.

“Let’s split up and fan out,” Conner says. “Impulse and Beetle, take the east side. Oracle and I will cover the west.”

Tim hands Blue Beetle one of his scanners. “They stored radioactive isotopes here. Biohazard should have cleaned up but if this starts clicking, get out.” 

“You have two of those?” Conner asks.

“Of course,” Tim says, pulling out his back up. He actually has three if you count the base model collapsible one. Tim likes to be prepared. 

“Like Bruce,” Cass had said, smiling impishly, when she’d discovered Tim packing extra smoke pellets into everyone’s utility belts, and Tim had felt a warm glow in his chest.

Conner gives Tim an oddly fond look and Tim almost trips over a piece of debris. _Focus,_ he chides himself. It’s better when Tim has something to think about. A problem to work on. Massive power surge plus odd localized damage reports of melted structures equals what? Step 1: Investigate. Step 2: Synthesize gathered information. Step 3: Don’t embarrass yourself in front of your crush.

Tim pulls aside an opaque tarp cordoning off the next section of hallway. “I’m sorry Nightwing assigned you to Gamma,” Tim says. “I know you were promoted to Alpha forever ago.”

“What?” Conner says. “Oh, no, I asked Dick to put me on Gamma.”

“Why?” Tim asks, thrown.

“I— was kind of worried about you?” Conner says, scrubbing a hand behind his neck. “Sorry if that comes off as, like, condescending. I know you can handle yourself, but the last couple times we met you got hurt and I was hoping I could do a better job preventing that this time around.”

It is a little condescending, but in a sweet way. And Conner has a point. Tim’s been extremely accident prone over the last year. A decade of chasing after Batman and Robin through Gotham’s black, back alleys with nothing but a few scrapes to show for it, and in the last ten months he’s been shot, concussed, and almost fallen a thousand feet to splatter against concrete. Not the track record Tim want to continue, especially now that there are people who care. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Tim says. He’s going to do a better job. 

Conner reaches out to help Tim over a pile of rubble from the collapsed ceiling. Tim can’t feel the warmth of Conner’s hand through the Kevlar of his uniform gloves and it’s tragic but also probably for the best.

“Thank you, Mr. Kent,” Tim says, mock-formal, to deflect the charged silence.

Conner’s face twists. He drops Tim’s hand.

“What?” Tim asks.

“That isn’t my name,” Conner says, looking away.

“Kent?” Tim asks, surprised. True, he’s never heard anyone else call Conner ‘Kent’ but most people don’t use civilian identity names anyway. Tim had just assumed. “But, wait, what last name do you use for college?” 

Conner shrugs. “Smith.”

_Smith,_ Tim thinks, incredulously. God, the only thing worse would be Doe.

“What about Conner?” Tim presses. “Didn’t Superman choose that for you?” Surely he’d at least given Conner that. It has the hard _kuh_ sound at the beginning like Kal and Kara. Kryptonian.

Conner shakes his head. “M’gann chose that for me. It’s from a TV show she liked.”

The appall Tim feels must show on his face even through the mask.

“I mean, I’m not really his kid or anything,” Conner says. “Superman doesn’t owe me anything.”

Maybe not traditionally, Tim allows, but what does that matter? Tim tries to imagine what Bruce’s reaction would be if anyone said Tim—or Dick, or Jason, or Cass—weren’t really his kids. It wouldn’t be pretty.

“Hey,” Conner says, “look at this.”

Tim peers down at the scrap of metal cupped in Conner’s palms. It’s half-melted but still recognizable as a blasting cap. Concrete evidence of sabotage. Tim snaps a photo and tucks the cap into his belt. 

What were they studying in this lab? Tim wonders. Clearly more than the molecular regeneration research that’s listed on it’s paperwork. Someone had felt the need to blow the place half to hell. A thief or someone trying to cover up a problem? 

“Tim,” Conner says faintly, from where he’s ventured further down the hallway. 

Conner looks pale, sweat standing out at his temples. “Are you okay?” Tim asks, worried. Conner is staring at the tall, cylindrical tanks at the center of the room like it’s a nightmare he can’t wake up from. 

The readings on Tim’s scanner are strange. High alpha particles. Tim snaps a picture of the readout. “Step back, okay?” he tells Conner. “Whatever they did here isn’t affecting me the way it’s affecting you.”

“It feels almost like kryptonite,” Conner says. 

Tim takes swab samples from the floor and the inside of one of the glass tanks that has a large and ominous hole. “We’re good,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

-

“What have you found?” Bruce asks, sitting down next to Tim on the lab bench where he has all his samples lined out impeccably on glass slides for testing.

“The explosive was C4,” Tim says. That had been a simple analysis. What happened in the lab prior to it being blown to smithereens is proving more elusive. “There was some kind of inhalant released beforehand,” Tim adds. “Conner was adversely affected even by just the residue. His cells are reacting almost the same way they would to kryptonite.”

“The clone let you have a sample of his blood?” Bruce asks.

Tim turns away from the microscope to look at him. “Yes?” He doesn’t see why it should come as some kind of surprise. The Justice League must have tested Conner’s blood extensively after he was first broken out of Cadmus.

“Hmm,” Bruce says, noncommittally. 

“I think the lab was doing some kind of animal testing,” Tim says. “There were short, white hairs in the sample I got from the bottom of the tank.” 

The closest sample match in the database had been from Ace, Damian’s beloved hound. Bat Cow had been a close second. Tim would ask why the extension of the police database cloned on the Batcomputer has pets in it but he knows the answer is Damian. Tim’s running against a zoological database to narrow further.

“Hanford has ties to LexCorp,” Bruce says. “Perhaps they were developing some sort of synthetic kryptonite.”

Tim shudders, thinking of the way Conner had gone weak and pale from a days old remnant. “And their test subject didn’t appreciate it?” 

“It’s good work, Tim,” Bruce says, putting a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “And now it’s time for bed. Everyone else conked out hours ago.”

Tim looks around the cave, surprised. He could have sworn Jason and Cass were just practicing on the mats but the sparring area is empty and all the lights are dim except for the ones around Tim’s workbench. 

Bruce moves the samples to the lab refrigerator marked NOT FOOD in large red letters while Tim powers down his equipment. It feels strange, at age eighteen, to be ordered off to bed. Tim self-regulated his sleep since before he can remember and the clock reading 4 am has never meant much to him, but there’s something to be said for the way it feels to be looked after, the comforting weight of a blanket settled over his shoulders.

“Goodnight, son,” Bruce says before he turns off the light.

_Night, dad,_ Tim thinks, but he closes his eyes and doesn’t say it out loud.

-

“Tim,” Jason says, shrugging his backpack over his shoulder, “will you please go up to the Watchtower and distract Roy before he does something we’ll all regret?” He shows Tim the screen of his cell phone. 

**Roy 12:42 pm**  
jason

**Roy 12:43 pm**  
monitor duty is so boring omg there have been 0 global disasters in the last 15 hours

**Roy 12:49 pm**  
did you know the watchtower can be removed from orbit?? i could visit mars, brb

“Sure,” Tim says. “I just finished the new laser attachment for his arm anyway.”

“Thank you!” Jason says as he sprints away down the hall. “You’re my favorite brother!” he yells back before he slams the front door behind him. 

Jason has an English Lit class that starts in ten minutes. Alfred keeps track of the whole family’s movements as much as possible on a giant whiteboard in the kitchen. Tim’s marker color is orange and sadly seldom used. He needs to decide about college or at least pick up some hobbies, make some friends.

Tim goes down to the cave to grab his toolkit and the laser array for Roy and pack them onto the back of the sleek red motorcycle Bruce gave him last week. 

“Do you like it?” Bruce had asked, after whipping off the dust cover theatrically to reveal a gorgeous, top of the line motorbike that must have cost at least fifty grand. He’d been smiling almost nervously, as if Tim might _not_ like it.

Tim had stared, shell-shocked. “It’s not my birthday.” Bruce keeps _giving_ him things. For no specific reason. Tim can barely remember the last time he got a gift before he became a Wayne and now it’s like an avalanche. 

“All your siblings have one,” Bruce had said. “Except Damian, of course. This one is yours.”

Tim slings a leg over the seat, revs the engine, and speeds out the back garage. Bruce coded him into the nearest zeta tube so he doesn’t have to take the trip up to the Watchtower by Javelin anymore. 

“Oracle!” Roy cheers when Tim materializes on the pad. 

“Sorry Jay couldn’t come. He had school,” Tim says, slinging his bag off his shoulder to clank against the floor. It’s a lot of metal. 

Roy scoffs. “This is better. I can’t believe Ollie almost got you killed before we even got to meet properly.”

Green Arrow is still _persona non grata_ with the Bats, despite Tim pointing out that Oliver hadn’t realized Tim wasn’t mission-approved and hadn’t forced him to go anyway. Tim’s given up arguing. Bruce gets an incredibly pinched expression on his face.

“I’ve got the laser array for you to try,” Tim says.

Roy’s eyes light up. He sits down in the chair in front of the monitoring station and props his metal arm on the armrest. “Lay it on me, Q.” 

Tim digs out his trusty Phillips-head and gets to work, pulling the power pack out momentarily to get to the inner workings. He fits the new attachment into place carefully. “How does it feel? It’s not too heavy, is it?” Tim asks. He could probably shave a few more ounces off the missile launcher mechanism.

Roy flexes the arm. “I can’t even tell. How can I test it?”

Probably not on a space station where they could be exposed to hard vacuum, Tim thinks. Bruce put in as many safeguards into the Watchtower as humanly possible, but Tim would rather not test his luck. “Come back to Gotham with me after your shift’s up and we can practice.” There’s an abandoned warehouse near the docks that Tim’s used for demolitions testing.

Roy gives Tim a quick salute. “I’m only on monitor duty for another hour. There’s pizza in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

Tim cleans up his tools and heads for the kitchen. He never thought he’d be eating pizza while on a space station populated by superheroes but what Tim expected for his life completely derailed months ago when he became a Wayne. He’s rolling with it.

“Tim?” 

Tim spins around. “Conner? What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Conner says. 

He’s eating a slice of pizza and looking generally off-duty but Tim’s brain isn’t computing. “You live on the Watchtower? I thought you lived in Kansas.” Or Metropolis at least. Wherever Superman would have placed him.

Conner shrugs. “This was easier for everyone.”

_Easier,_ Tim thinks, irritated. It’s a sterile space station. Conner deserves more than one step up from being trapped in a test tube in a Cadmus lab. He deserves a home, a family. Tim doesn’t understand why Clark hasn’t given it to him. Bruce met Tim _once_ before deciding to have adoption papers drawn up and Tim isn’t even special.

“How are the tests from the Hanford lab going?” Conner asks.

“Well, I haven’t isolated the compound that caused your symptoms yet, but you have beautiful telomeres,” Tim says. Conner’s blood is as super as the rest of him.

Conner smiles. “I guess that’s what happens when you don’t age.”

“Sorry, what?” Tim says.

Conner waves a hand from the top of his head down to his feet. “This is apparently me for the foreseeable future. It’s a clone thing.”

“Wow,” Tim says. “Who’s working on that?”

“Working on what?” Conner asks.

Tim pauses, wrong-footed. He never seems to say the right thing with Conner. “Do you want to be this age forever?” Some of Tim’s high school classmates had consumed vampire media voraciously but Tim never saw the appeal of living forever, frozen in place. Certainly not the place he’d been then.

Conner frowns. “No, but I don’t really see how I can change it.”

“We could look into some kind of gene therapy,” Tim says. Surely someone’s working on it already. Bruce hasn’t mentioned it but the Justice League has a lot of top scientific talent and contacts.

“Yeah,” Conner says, “Yeah, that’d be amazing. What would you need?”

Tim’s not exactly an expert but he has lab equipment and will and that’s a solid foundation for a lot of things. “A few more blood samples, to get started. The notes from your original screenings when you joined the team would be useful so I’m not repeating the same tests.”

“I never went through blood screening,” Conner says.

“No one has ever done your bloodwork before?” Tim repeats. It seems impossible considering the circumstances, but Bruce had been a little squirrely about Tim having Conner’s blood samples. 

Conner takes a knife out of the pizza box and stabs himself in the arm before Tim can stop him. It’s the knife that breaks, not his skin. “Getting blood samples from me isn’t the easiest process. And I wasn’t exactly open to more poking and prodding from people I didn’t know after the team broke me out of Cadmus.”

“Without testing, how do we even know you’re a clone?” Tim asks. Obviously Conner shares a lot of similarities with Superman between his powers and phenotype but that doesn’t confirm he’s a perfect clone.

From the look on Conner’s face, Tim should have just stopped talking after he agreed to the blood samples—which, oh by the way, Tim is apparently the first person he’s _ever_ trusted with—instead of also potentially flipping his entire sense of self. 

“Sorry,” Tim says. “I’m getting way ahead of things. I can start with some simple tests and you can let me know what you want to do from there. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Conner says. “Thanks. This is… it means a lot to me.”

Tim wills himself not to flush. A few nights in the lab is no big deal. He’d be willing to do a hell of a lot more for Conner. “So how _do_ you draw blood samples?” Conner must have some method since he’s already managed to supply Tim with two vials for the Hanford testing.

“I know a guy,” Conner says.

_You know a guy,_ Tim thinks, horrified. Images of Conner strapped down on a metal table while some back alley doctor drills into his arm like an oil well, or worse, exposes him to kryptonite to the point that a needle can break skin, flash through Tim’s brain. But Tim’s pried enough for one day. “Send me four vials if you can and I’ll check in with you in a couple weeks.”

“Thanks, Tim,” Conner says, smiling like he hasn’t given Tim ten pounds of heartbreaking information in the past half hour.

“What are friends for,” Tim says, keeping his voice steady. He’s going to go grab Roy and they’re going to blow the hell out of some abandoned junk metal. Tim feels like he needs that right about now.

-

_Oh, shit,_ Tim thinks as the results scroll across the computer screen.

Lex Luthor.

Clark Kent appeared just as expected but _Lex Luthor_ is Conner’s other biological donor. His other father. Tim doesn’t know why he thought this was a good idea. Did he really think he was going to find some magically caring parental figure for Conner just because Tim found one for himself? Bruce is like a unicorn of a father.

Tim had hypothesized that Conner wasn’t a perfect clone of Clark. His powers didn’t match exactly what with the tactile telekinesis and Tim had found scanned photos from old back issues of the Smallville High yearbook online; Conner looks extremely similar to Clark Kent at eighteen, but he’s not identical. 

Tim knows this because he’s spent a lot of time looking at Conner. And he has a picture now. Dick had sent Gamma to a new scene where they were cleaning up yet another oddly melted fence. The hole looked similar to the destruction the laser array Tim had added to Roy’s arm was capable of producing, a kind of lopsided circle, the edges melted. Tim had asked Conner to stand beside it when he took a photo. For scale.

Fuck. Tim is supposed to meet Conner in an hour. How is he going to tell Conner that his father is Lex Luthor? Has Conner even seen Star Wars?

“Tim!”

Tim jerks out of his anxiety spiral to discover that Dick is shaking him by the shoulder. Bruce and Alfred are behind him, carefully giving Tim space, but looking concerned. “Tim, are you okay?”

Tim glances tellingly at the computer monitor. He knows Bruce will have caught that. Luckily, it’s gone to screensaver. “I’m okay,” Tim says. “Sorry.”

Dick pulls Tim into a hug and Tim holds on tight. “Do you want to talk about it?” Dick whispers into his ear. “Just with me?”

Tim shakes his head and pulls back. “I’ve got to go.” He locks the computer even though he knows Bruce would never violate his privacy. “I’m meeting Conner in Metropolis for lunch.” 

Dick doesn’t even tease him about Conner. Tim must look really spooked.

“Conner could come here sometime,” Bruce says, and Tim looks up at him, surprised by the concession. Technically, there’s a No Metas Allowed policy over Gotham. The Justice League respects it more than the Young Justice team who sneak through to visit occasionally, but Tim doesn’t think Bruce generally offers invites.

“Thanks, that might be nice for next time,” Tim says. If Conner ever wants to talk to him again after this. 

Tim wonders if Bruce thinks that Tim and Conner are actually dating. They haven’t really had a conversation about it. Tim never put much thought into coming out because he never had reason to. His parents weren’t around and then they were gone forever, or functionally so. His high school friends were more acquaintances than anything. And Dick and the rest of the family seem to have just taken it as a given that Tim’s gay. There was never any fanfare when Dick started campaigning for Conner to be Tim’s boyfriend. 

“Will you be home for supper, Master Tim?” Alfred asks.

“Of course,” Tim says. The smell of roast beef and onions has been permeating the manor all morning. “I’d never miss your pot roast.”

-

Tim takes a zeta tube up to the Watchtower relay and then down to Metropolis, which really is a pain in the ass, but he’d take a hundred re-routes to see Conner if he had to. And it’s nice to see Conner in a space that isn’t just about the work he does for the team. 

Metropolis University is a lot like the rest of the city. Sleek, glass buildings and wide, clean walkways surrounded by bright patches of green grass. Students are reading and playing frisbee and laughing and it’s like all the college brochures that Tim looked at and then threw away.

Conner waves at him from across the quad and stands up from where he’d been sitting on a set of concrete steps beside the cafeteria. “Hey Tim,” he says, going in for a quick hug that’s simultaneously awkward and amazing. “Glad you could make it.”

“Me too,” Tim says, even though there’s a pit in his stomach like a black hole. He’s going to have to tell Conner about Luthor today. Conner deserves to know and Tim can’t bear to let it fester.

Tim and Conner have a standing lunch meet up on Wednesdays now. Tim isn’t exactly sure how it happened. “I don’t have the results yet,” Tim had said when Conner called the first time.

“That’s not actually the reason I wanted to have lunch with you,” Conner said and gave Tim the address. 

‘Date night’ Jason calls it, and even through Tim rolls his eyes, part of him thinks—hopes—maybe it’s a precursor at least. Conner talks to him about the books he’s reading and the classes he’s taking. 

One of his classes is Journalism. Conner seems to feel like he needs to fit himself into Clark’s mold. Maybe the fact that he’s not a full clone will be a blessing in that sense. Still. Lex Luthor. Luthor has toned down his world domination plots over the past decade as far as Tim can tell but he’s still a grade A corporate asshole who had Tim shot.

Conner nudges Tim under the table he must have steered Tim toward after he picked out a salad and fries on autopilot. “You’re quiet.”

Tim gives him a sardonic look.

“More quiet than usual,” Conner concedes with a smile. “What’s up?”

Tim puts his fork down. “I have to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Conner says encouragingly, after Tim doesn’t continue.

“I got the results back from your bloodwork.”

“That bad, huh?” Conner says. “It’s okay. I’d rather know than not.”

“You’re a hybrid,” Tim says, the blunt, unadorned truth. He doesn’t know how to lead up to it to soften the blow. “Half of your cloned DNA is from Superman. The other half is from—” Tim can feel his throat clog, but the suspense isn’t helping anything. “Lex Luthor,” he gets out. “The other half is from Lex Luthor.”

Conner looks at Tim for what feels like a long time. In reality, it’s probably only a few seconds. “Thanks for telling me,” he says.

“I’m so sorry,” Tim says, the words spilling out in a rush. “Maybe he’s not so bad? He donated $10 million to cancer research last month and he hasn’t actually tried to kill Superman in years.” Any recent attempts have been perfunctory at best. And some of Tim’s research leads him to believe that previous plots have been mostly performative. There’s a fascinating photo in Clark’s senior yearbook of him with an arm around Luthor’s shoulders.

“Tim,” Conner says, “he had you shot.” 

_Twice,_ Tim thinks. Now is probably not the best time for clarity. 

“I know,” Tim says. But he also knows he might have forgiven worse for someone, anyone, to care about him. “It wasn’t anywhere vital. Just the shoulder.” 

“Tim,” Conner says. “Anywhere someone shoots you is vital to me.” His hand is warm over Tim’s and Tim doesn’t know when that happened.

“I’m really sorry,” Tim says again. “You deserve for it to have been someone better. Maybe you’re just the good parts of both of them.”

Conner smiles, something wistful, bittersweet. “If you think so, that’s good enough for me.”

Conner’s eyes are blue and close and it feels like releasing a long-held breath when he kisses Tim and twines their fingers together.

-

“How was date night with Conner?” Jason asks at dinner as he passes Tim the basket of fresh bread rolls, still oven warm.

“Good,” Tim says. “How was your exam?”

Jason groans. “Ugh, who adds an essay section to a Bio—” He stops abruptly and narrows his eyes at Tim. Down the table, everyone has paused mid-chew. “Wait, no ‘Jason, it’s not a date night’?”

Tim carefully cuts a perfectly roasted potato in half with his fork. “Lunch is typically eaten during the day.”

“But it _was_ a _date_ this time?” Jason presses.

Tim swallows. He feels like a bone is stuck in his throat but he knows it’s just anxiety. He doesn’t really expect anyone to be upset but it’s hard to say it, to find out for sure. Tim’s place here still feels fragile, like it’s a dream that could shatter at any moment. “Yes.” 

Conner had asked, flat out, if Tim would be his boyfriend. Tim isn’t sure how he came through a conversation he thought might end their friendship entirely with the end result that his crush is now his boyfriend. Just one more bit of luck to add to Tim’s streak. When fortune swings the other way, it’s going to swing hard.

Dick makes a sound like a tea kettle boiling but doesn’t seem capable of words.

“I’m glad to hear the boy has good taste,” Bruce says. “Clark’s has been questionable on occasion.”

Tim wonders what Bruce will say about Conner being half Luthor. Tim should probably tell him. It’s a potential liability. 

“You’ll bring him to lunch sometime?” Bruce adds. 

“I’ll ask him,” Tim says. He’s not about to commit Conner to an hour of Bat stares and interrogation. Tim would like to date him for more than a week. He’d like to date him a lot longer.

“You’re happy,” Cass says, short and clear. Her smile is in her eyes. “I’m glad too.”

“Thanks,” Tim says. He can feel prickling behind his eyes.

“Tell us about the essay, Jason,” Bruce says. “And pass Tim the butter.”

Jason reaches across the table to get Tim the butter. “Well, I’m glad Tim had good news, because I don’t. I straight up failed that exam.”

-

“Seriously, what is doing this?” Conner asks, peering through the melted circle cut through the side of a delivery truck. The driver had been as perplexed as they are.

“Something that doesn’t like to be trapped,” Tim says. Most things don’t, but most things also can’t laser cut their way free. “The DNA from the lab was from an animal. A dog most likely. I couldn’t find an exact match on the breed in any database though.”

“I always wanted a dog,” Conner says. “But there’s no backyard on the Watchtower.” 

“You can always come over and throw the frisbee around with Ace sometime,” Tim says. Damian would allow it. Probably.

Conner hooks his arms around Tim, his hands clasping at the small of Tim’s back, just above his bo staff. “Your dad would let me into Gotham?”

“He wants you to come for lunch,” Tim admits. “It would probably involve Level 1 interrogation methods.” Level 1 is uncomfortable questions, heavy silence, and mild psychological warfare. No physical violence but Bruce hardly ever needs to descend to that to break someone. 

“Jason already gave me the shovel talk,” Conner says, smiling, and Tim closes his eyes in mortification. “It’s fine. They love you.”

_They love you._ Tim doesn’t understand why he still almost can’t accept it when it feels like there’s so much proof. Hugs and gifts and kindness. Legal documentation. Bruce has called Tim ‘son’ dozens of times. It’s Tim who’s struggling with reciprocation, with belief.

There’s a short, sharp bark and a white dog launches itself at Conner’s knees.

“Whoa!” Conner says, releasing Tim and barely managing to keep his balance. “Hey there, pup.” He glances at Tim, “You don’t think…”

A squirrel darts across the road and red beams shoot from the dog’s eyes to follow it. 

“Yeah,” Tim says. That’s one part of the mystery solved at least. He only has fifty new questions now.

“I’m still coming to lunch though, right?” Conner says. The dog has abandoned the fleeing squirrel to lick warm stripes over his cheek.

“Yes,” Tim says. “Bring your dog.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this Tim/Kon diversion. Apparently I'll be able to continue to write in this ‘verse with the exception of the one actual Plot Event rattling around my brain!
> 
> Comments are loved. And/or if you want to talk with me about Tim Drake, I’m also smilebackwards on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/smilebackwards) and [Dreamwidth.](https://smilebackwards.dreamwidth.org/)


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